


What Could go Wrong?

by Morgan_Jean



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Romance, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Jean/pseuds/Morgan_Jean
Summary: One woman will entire the kitchen and barely survive.
Relationships: Stella Baxter/Clay Spenser
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	What Could go Wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's July but with everything going on I thought we could all use a little warm fluffiness. This is my first time writing fanfiction so I'm incredibly nervous to post but also incredibly excited to share this story with you all. 
> 
> I don't really know where this idea came from but after I started writing I was inspired by snippets from the first Thanksgiving episode of Friends.

Failure wasn’t an option. Not this week, not this mission. Everything had to go according to plan. 

In her planner in big bold letters, Stella even wrote  _ Failure is NOT an Option _ and circled it in red pen three times. The fate of America was resting on her shoulders. 

Okay, not really. But it felt like it did.

***

The Saturday before Thanksgiving everything had seemed set in stone. Stella was going to spend the holiday with her parents and extended family, her roommate Roxy was going home with her boyfriend Max, and Clay was going to spend it with Sonny. Stella figured it was best not to ask for any details on their holiday plans. It was safer that way. She trusted Clay and he was a grown well-matured adult. He was a grown adult. He was an adult...sometimes. When he wanted to be.

But during a quick call to her mom to see if there was anything she should bring for Thursday her mother dropped a bomb on her. Her parents would be spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii as a “second- honeymoon”. Leaving Stella stuck at her apartment for the week. Sure, she could tell Clay and he’d probably tell her she could spend the day with him and the Texan and she’d have to find an excuse because well it’s Sonny and hard-drinking would most definitely be involved.  No, spending the day by herself would be fine. She didn’t have to tell Clay and if he questioned why she wasn’t leaving on Monday, she could easily tell him that she had some last-minute things to take care of. For the rest of the week if he texted or they talked on the phone she could make it seem like she was home. 

And this little plan worked. Until she opened her door Monday night thinking it was the delivery guy with her Chinese food instead it was Clay with that cocky smile on his lips. The jig was up. 

“What’re you doin’ Stell?” He asks, that grin never living his face. 

“What are you talking about? I said I had some things to finish up and-”

He chuckles. “You told me that you had everything finished Friday so you didn’t have to worry about anything else while playing with your nieces and nephews.”

_Might as well come clean, fuck._

“My parents are going to Hawaii for the week. They left last night.” Stella shivers at the cold air that’s followed him inside. 

“And the rest of your family? Aren’t they celebrating?”

She doesn’t meet his gaze. Clay nods and leans on the arm of the sofa before taking her hands in his. “Nobody sent you an invite.” He wasn’t asking a question, just making a statement. Stella nods. “I wasn’t going to invite myself. That’s not right.” She shrugs it off though. “It’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can spend a week by myself. It’s not the end of the world.”  He smiles. The little lines around his eyes becoming more prominent. Stella can’t help but share the smile looking at him. “Spend it with me.” He says softly. She blinks her smile only slightly wavering. “Aren’t you spending the day with Sonny? I don’t want to separate you two.” 

Clay shrugs, “His idea of a good time on Thanksgiving is going to a strip club in time for a buffet.”  She wrinkles her nose at this, “You were gonna spend the day at a strip club?” 

“I didn’t say it was  _ my  _ idea of a good time. And I was just gonna watch not touch.”

Stella lets out a light laugh as she nods. “Sure. It’s nice to know that my boyfriend was going to spend an entire day watching women strip for singles.” 

“Does it make you feel better if I say that I think about you while there?” Clay gives her a sweet smile. 

“You do realize you just admitted to going to strip clubs.” She lets go of his hands, a smile still playing at her lips as she walks towards the kitchen.  Clay clears his throat, his cheeks burn as his gaze flutters to the floor. “So, Thanksgiving?”

“What about it?” Stella hands him a beer. For a moment curly-haired blonde doesn’t say anything. The room falls silent save for the small clock on the wall.  “Why don’t we spend it together? We can go out to dinner maybe catch a movie and if the night goes well, maybe, just maybe we can take a stroll on the pier and stop by that ice-cream shack you like so much.”  It’s tempting but it’s Thanksgiving. Her nose wrinkles. “As nice as that sounds…”  Something shifts in his eyes. She isn’t sure what, but something falters. Before she can question it he speaks. 

“Is it not good enough?” He’s not angry. Not upset. No, he sounds almost like a hurt puppy. She frowns.    


“It sounds like a wonderful Friday night date,” Stella crosses the room and sits next to him. “But it doesn’t sound like Thanksgiving. At least not to me that is.” She wonders how many normal traditional Thanksgivings he’s had in his life. Can he count them on one hand or has he just never had a Thanksgiving before?  “Why don’t we have our own Thanksgiving?” She asks softly, her fingers tracing small patterns on his thigh. 

Clay arches a brow. “Like… make our own meal?” It sounds foreign to him. Stella nods. “Yeah, a feast for two. Whatever we can’t finish we have as leftovers.” 

He nods slowly, sliding off the armrest into her. Stella lets out a loud squawk of laughter. “Clay! You weigh more than me!” She screams arms flailing.

“I thought you were tough? Surely you can handle little ol’ me!” He laughs. She thought she was getting a boyfriend, not a damn Golden Retriever. 

He kisses her softly. It was playful. Until it wasn’t. He places their drinks on the coffee table and pins her wrists above her head deepening the kiss. She licks his lower lip; nips at it gently. Asking politely, this time, for entrance. He grants her permission but it’s short-lived. There’s a knock at her door. Causing both of them to jump. He licks his lips breathing hard and quickly lets her go. Moving into a sitting position.  After Stella shuts the door and brings the bag of food into the kitchen she glances at him. “We have a problem.” She mutters cheeks flushed.  He gives her a crooked smile. “What?”

“I only ordered enough food for one person.” He places a hand on his heart. “Oh Stell, you don’t know me well. You should’ve known I was gonna come over.” 

“Strangely enough, it did cross my mind this afternoon after I told you I made it safely to my parents. But told myself I was just overreacting.”

He walks over to her and wraps his arms around her waist kissing her neck gently. “Smells good.” He whispers. She grins. “I got a plate, I’ll share.” Clay grins and kisses her neck again. “Sounds good.” 

***

Stella sits on the sofa dressed in one of Clay's shirts with a notebook balancing on her raised knees. She looks down at the lined pages and taps her pen to her chin.  _ Fuck, what else? This has to be perfect. Failure is not an option, Stel. This is his first Thanksgiving. This is my first Thanksgiving cooking… _ Stella shakes her head. She doesn’t want to scare herself. That’s how things go wrong. What was it that Clay told her about war? Keep the negative thoughts out of your head? What was that saying he mentioned once?  _ Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose? No that’s not it. _

“Hey, what are you doin’ up early?” Clay comes out of the bedroom in his black briefs. She forces her eyes to stay above his waste.  “Making a list.” She says. “Oh, there’s coffee in the kitchen.” The blond nods making his way into the kitchen.  “Stell, look, you don’t have to go through with this. We don’t need to have an actual Thanksgiving meal. It’s not worth it for just two people. I’m fine with just going out.” 

“I’m not.” Stella looks up to meet his gaze. “Clay, I am fully capable of making this meal. Don’t you have faith in me?”

He gives her a sheepish smile and shrugs. “You burned toast, Stell.” 

She gasps, “How dare you bring that up in my own home! How rude! You said we’d never talk about December 2017 ever again!"

“I’m not trying to reopen old wounds, Stella. I just don’t want to put all this pressure on you for a meal.”

Stella gawks at him. “A  _ meal _ ? Wednesday before Thanksgiving is a meal. Saturday after Thanksgiving is a “meal”. Thursday is a feast, also accepted is Turkey Day, or as my nephew calls it Gobble Gobble Day. It’s not just a “meal”, Clay.” " What’re Fridays?” He asks with a confused expression.

“Fridays are Leftovers Day.” She pushes the notebook aside and gets up stretching. He watches for a moment, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. 

“What do you normally cook on Thanksgiving? Maybe you can take care of those things while I take care of the other stuff. We can break it up so you don’t have to do everything yourself.”  Her face flushes as she walks into her kitchen. “It’s alright. I have it all taken care of. I’m writing up my plan right now so we can go shopping later for our supplies.”

“Okay...you’re avoiding the question. What do you normally take care of? I can help, Stell.”

“The cranberry sauce,” she avoids his eyes as she pours another cup of coffee. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say that you typically take care of the  _ cranberry sauce? _ ”  She nods her face as red as a tomato.

“Stell, it’s in a can. You open it and put it in a bowl. That’s what you take care of on Thanksgiving?”

“You also have to remember to put it in the fridge or-”

“Or what? It’s cranberry sauce.”

“Well! Nothing actually.” Her face darkens.  “This is gonna be great. You want to cook an entire Thanksgiving meal but all you normally take care of is something Cerberus can do."  Her jaw drops. “Did you really just say a dog could do my job?”  Clay glances at her, a smirk playing at his lips. “He could probably do the Turkey too.  Stella smacks Clay’s bare chest. “Jerk! I can cook better than a dog!”

“Are you sure? You burned milk once.”

“WE  _ AGREED _ WE’D NEVER TALK ABOUT DECEMBER 2017!”

Clay lets out a howl of laughter and pulls her into an embrace kissing her neck. Stella wiggles out of his grasp and stalks off to the living room.  “I can fend for myself you know. It’s not like I can’t cook anything. I’ve survived this long on my own with no one to cook for me.” 

“You have roommates that do the brunt of the cooking. They actually do all the cooking if I’m not mistaken.”  Stella shoots Clay a glare.“I can cook!”

To prove this point further he grabs the phone off the island, hits the 2, and puts the phone on speaker. 

“Chicho’s Pizza. What can I help you with, Stella? Ain’t it a bit early to get your usual?”  Clay gives his girlfriend an “I told you, you can’t cook” look and hangs up. 

“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, I don’t hang up on your friends.” 

“You’ve hung on Sonny before,” Clay sits beside her. She props her legs on his lap and stretches out a bit bringing the notepad back to her lap. “Why would I have Cerb’s squeaky toy?  _ And _ I was in the middle of class. Why would  _ I _ have a dog toy with me in class?”

“Hey, we were all panicking that day. He gets OCD sometimes on a particular toy. Brock was half afraid he left it in some country. You should’ve seen Cerbs’ face when we couldn’t find it. He was distraught.”

“I apologized, stop making me feel bad! How was I supposed to know it was in my bag?”

Clay laughs. “He wanted you to play with him, that’s why.”

Stella shakes her head a smile forming on her lips as she thinks back to that panicked call from Sonny during class. Angrily hanging up on him after she called him a dumbass. Only to find the squeaky toy in her tote bag as she was leaving. She apologized to Brock later who only told her, “It’s not my toy. I don’t need it to sleep.” She patted Cerberus on the head and mumbled a sorry handing him the toy, her friends snickering behind her when the dog turned his head, snout tilted upwards as if to say “not good enough”. She physically had to get down on her knees so she was eye-level with the canine. 

“I’m sorry for taking your toy with me to school. It will never happen again. It’d be an honor to play fetch with you but only if you think I’m worthy.” She was half-joking now. She gave him a quick hug and held the plush toy out for him to take. Cerberus gave her a quick lick on the face before taking the toy out of her palm and trotting back over to Brock who had a shit-eating grin on his face. But it was Clay’s expression that she’s never forgotten. His bright crystal blue eyes alive with laughter.  _ That _ laugh. So carefree. So warm. A boyish laugh that made her feel warm and tingly all over.  Her friends from school never let her live it down. And the men of Bravo always made jokes about checking her bag before she’d leave just to make sure that she wasn’t smuggling one of Cerberus’s toys out. But it was worth it. All of it. Just to catch a glimpse of that bright smile that carried into those eyes whenever that day was mentioned. 

The touch of Clay’s fingers tracing over her bare legs pulls her back from that memory. Thankfully she was staring at her notepad and not just blankly at the wall. Clay had turned on the television and was watching the news. Something she found she hated to watch while he was gone yet she could never pull herself away from it. She was almost late once when breaking news had popped up with an explosion in a far-away country shortly after he’d been spun up. 

Stella clears her throat, “So, back to Thanksgiving. I think I have everything we’ll need. Is there a type of pie you’d like?” She looks up at him and waits. He shrugs, “What kind of pies is normally served at Thanksgiving?”

“You’re joking right?” 

He shakes his head giving her an innocent look, “Stell, this will be my first Thanksgiving. Even when I was deployed I’d be too tired to actually make it to the mess hall. Or I’d be busy that day. I never celebrated it when I was younger.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

Clay’s gaze flickers to the television, “It’s more of a  _ family _ holiday.” He’s not bitter. There’s sadness in his voice. Like a sad boy that’s reminded every year that he doesn’t have a family. 

“What about the Perries? I’m sure Ray would invite you in a heartbeat.” 

“He did last year. But uh, I turned him down. Naima’s parents were coming over and I uh...I just…” Clay trails off. 

Stella’s heart shatters as she looks at her boyfriend. He’s vulnerable, like a hurt puppy out in the cold. “You didn’t want to be a burden.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Clay nods sheepishly. Not meeting her gaze as if he’s too embarrassed to do so. 

It’s decided now, that she would make Thursday as special as she could for Clay. He deserved it. She moves her legs out of his lap and slides over to him. She climbs into his lap, a leg on either side of him, and kisses him gently. She breaks the kiss only to do it twice more, three times more, four. Hoping or more of wishing that her kisses could ease the pain or embarrassment he’s feeling for never having a traditional Thanksgiving. 

“We’re having a Thanksgiving meal. Be ready to eat at four.” She kisses him again. Her fingers getting lost in his curls. Clay breaks the kiss. “Four? Seems kind of early, don’t you think?”

“Fine, be ready to eat by five. You’ll be asleep by six.” She kisses him again. 

“Shopping?” He breaks the kiss momentarily. 

Stella blinks, “What?”

“You said last night you wanted to get shopping done today so you wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow.” He runs his fingers through her hair. Stella licks her lips. “Yeah, well, you know it’s more of an American tradition to do the shopping tomorrow anyway.” She kisses his neck. 

“Ms. Baxter. are you trying to tempt me with a good time?”

“Always.” She grins.

*** 

The next morning, Stella and Clay moved lazily through their routines, it’d been so long since it was just them that reconnecting was almost a must. A slight brush of shoulders or a hand lingering too long on a knee and they’d end up back in her bed tangled together. Not that Stella was complaining. She missed him more every time he left and found herself more worried as she paid closer attention to the news. Stella was grateful for Trish and some of the other wives she’s met here and there but she still felt on the outside looking in. Like it was a group she wasn’t allowed to join at Club Rush. 

“You know, we could always go to Honolulu and avoid Thanksgiving all together.” Clay calls from the shower. Stella blinks a few times being pulled from her thoughts. She shoots a playful glare in his direction. “Stop trying to get out of it. I’m not the worst cook in America.” 

“You burned an egg, Stell.” 

“Hey, sometimes scrambling eggs are hard,” Stella argues.

Clay laughs, “I’m sure scrambling  _ eggs _ are hard. But you burned a single egg on a non-stick pan. I’m not trying to avoid Thanksgiving I’d just prefer not getting food poison.”

After putting on the finishing touches of her makeup Stella shoots another glare at the shower. Her eyes land on the towel hanging up and grins quietly taking it as she leaves the room.  _ That’ll show him.  _

“Real mature, Stell!” Clay shouts a few minutes later. She cackles in the living room. 

***

The young couple finally managed to get to the store, as much as she wanted to stay tangled in the sheets feeling his beating heart beneath her palm, Clay suggested they actually get some shopping done today. While shopping the day before Thanksgiving may be a “tradition” (he didn’t believe her on that part) he didn’t want to get stuck spending the day in bed again. Not that he would say no even if that happened. 

“And you’re sure we have everything on the list?”

“Why are you so worried about this? Yes, I have everything on the list. Turkey, potatoes, salad fixings, stuffing ingredients, pie ingredients, pie crusts, lots of butter, gravy... etc. It’s all here,” Stella waves the list at him. “Stop worrying so much. This is going to be great.” She hops out of his car and shuts the door. He shoots her a quizzical expression as he walks up to her, taking her hand in his. “Do you have your own clothes? Or are we going to have to stop by some shop and get you more?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I have plenty of clothes? Why?” His eyes dart to the flannel and the black shirt underneath it. “Because it seems that you’re wearing mine and I just had to wonder if you lost your clothes or somethin’. Tell me, is there anything you’re currently wearing that actually belongs to you?” A cocky smile plays at his lips. Stella rolls her eyes.  “The jeans are mine. The bra is mine. And the underwear is mine. Are we done?”

He pulls her body against his the cocky grin never leaving his face. “I think I’m gonna need proof of the bra and underwear, Stell.” She laughs and playfully drags him inside the store.  “Stop stalling! I don’t want all the good turkeys to be gone. C’mon!” He grabs a cart following after her.

“Turkey first,” she says looking at her list and begins walking towards the meats. Clay follows in step beside her. “Shouldn’t we save the turkey for last so it doesn’t defrost in the cart?”

“What? No, turkey first so we get a good one. Besides, it won’t fully defrost in the cart. It’ll take hours for that to happen. And it’ll usually happen in a sink or bathtub filled with water.”

Clay raises an eyebrow, “Sink or bathtub?” 

Stella continues walking not even registering his comment, “But the sink will be needed for some prep so the bathtub will work.”

“Sharing a bathtub with a frozen turkey... sounds great.” She nudges him in the ribs.

“How big?” 

“How big what?” She looks up from the list confused. 

“The turkey,” He grins. “How big of a bird are you planning on getting?” Stella shrugs, “You know…” she waves her free hand in front of her, “an average size turkey.” Clay arches a brow, “That’s a lot of turkey for two.” She brushes him off as they walk towards the meat department.  “It’ll be…” Stella trails off as she looks at the turkey’s piled on top of one another. 

“The average size of turkey is 15 pounds, Stell.” Clay picks up one turkey and looks at the size. “Oh look, 16 pounds.” She glares at him and stops a storeworker.  “Excuse me,” Stella reads his name tag, “Wayne, do you have any small turkeys in the back? It’s just me and my boyfriend for Thanksgiving and the last thing we need is a 15-pound bird.” she lets out an awkward laugh.  The employee bursts out laughing. “Hey, Dan! This chick wants a  _ small _ Turkey! At two in the afternoon! The day before Thanksgiving!” A guy she assumed to be Dan bursts into a fit of laughter next to his co-worker.  Stella and Clay exchange a look. She clears her throat and the men come down from their laughing fit. 

“Listen, lady, if you don’t see a small bird here,” he gestures to the other turkeys, “then they’ve already been sold. We won’t get another shipment until Thursday, and that’s not guaranteed. It’s a Holiday. You should’ve been here at opening for a chance to get a small bird.” He walks aways laughing with Dan. She hated Dan. 

“I’m gonna be honest, Stell. I could probably eat a 15-pound bird, but it’s gonna take a few days and you’ll probably get a lot of crap from Jase because of the extra weight gain. I say we just get a turkey breast and call it cool. Okay?”

“A turkey breast? That won’t make it to leftovers, Clay.” 

“Okay, two turkey breasts. Stell, you’re not going to cook a 15-pound bird. You burned pudding.” 

“December 2017 is not to be talked about yet we keep talking about it!” He puts his hands up in defense, “It’s good as a reference.” Stella tries her hardest too glare as she tries to fight a small smile.  “Fine, two turkey breast it is. Let’s just get out of here. Can you go ask the butcher for that? Meet in the flour section?” Clay nods and pecks her lips before heading towards the butcher. 

Stella frowns as she searches for the rest of her ingredients. The pit in her stomach won’t leave her alone even as she tries to put as much distance as possible between her and the meat.  _ I just wanted Thursday to be perfect and even that was too much ask for.  _ She thinks as she checks a few things off her list. For a brief moment her own confidence waivers as she stares at the list. 

_ What am I doing?  _

_ I burned pudding.  _

_ I can’t scramble an egg.  _

_ I can’t cook. _

_ I can’t mash potatoes. _

_ God, maybe pizza would just be easier. _

But then Stella’s eyes trail upwards towards the beginning of the list at the words in bold letters circled three times by red ink.

**_FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION!_ **

She thinks back to Clay’s comment, “It’s more of a  _ family _ holiday,” and a new sense of motivation surges through her veins. Stella Baxter was going to give her Golden Retriever, er,  _ boyfriend _ the perfect Thanksgiving.  Stella quickly grabs a bag of flour, brown and normal sugar, and a shaker of cinnamon. She checks it off the list and smiles to herself.  _ I got this. And with two turkey breasts, I might actually stand a chance.  _ She turns to move towards the dairy just as Clay catches up to her. Another one of his sheepish grins on his face. Something was wrong.  “What’s…” Stella trails off as she looks at his hands, “Clay, that’s a 15-pound bird.” Her hands expanded in front of her to mimic the size of the bird. “I thought we agreed on two turkey breasts,” Her hands shrunk to mimic the size of a turkey breast.

“You’re right. We did agree on turkey breasts. But the butcher said they were hit this morning by a bunch of single people like it was Armageddon which leads me to believe he’s never seen the movie or read the New Testament and I mean, should we really be buying our meat from a guy that hasn’t done either?” Stella blinks.

“Okay, wait. They’re out of turkey breasts?” 

Clay nods. 

“So of course you get a 15-pound bird…”  _ Fuck me.  _ “Actually, no.” He checks the tag at the top, “I got the smallest bird I could find. It’s 13-pounds.” 

“Great…” Stella tries to calm her nerves. “It’s perfect!”

Clay doesn’t believe her, hell, she doesn’t even believe herself but he puts the bird in the cart. “We could go to another store.” He suggests.  _ God, he sounds like a puppy. Timid and sweet fuck that’s how our kid is gonna sound, isn’t it?  _ Whoa! Flashing lights and sirens pop up in her brain.  _ Where did that come from Stella?  _

“You alright, Stell?” Clay’s voice is soft. She chokes on a gasp and nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. The bird is fine. I’ve got it.” Stella gives him a fake smile. He watches her for a moment before giving her a slow nod.  “I got your six. Whatever you need help with. Just call me your sous-chef,” He says the last part in a perfect French accent earning a laugh from Stella. 

***

_ It’s game day.  _ Stella thinks to herself as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. Today was going to be a success. It had to be. The world depended on it. Okay, Clay’s vision of how a traditional Thanksgiving is supposed to go depended on it. 

It was 7:30 a.m when Stella sat down with her first cup of coffee. With a pen in her hand, she began to furiously write out things to take care of first. She had found recipes the night before she planned on using, all of them four-stars or better. Now all she had to do was write the game plan out and follow it to a Tee. There was so much going on in her head last night Stella took the opportunity to write out all the recipes so she didn’t have to keep looking at her phone. Hopefully, with the game plan and already written recipes, nothing would burn or stick to anything.  _ Hopefully. _

“I have to know, do I have any shirts in my apartment, or are they all here? I mean, I didn’t bring a change of clothes Monday night, yet I keep finding my shirts and, this was a new one for me, my briefs. So I have to know, do I have anything left in my apartment, or did you just move me into here?” 

_ Crap.  _ “Coffee?” Stella hopes to change the subject. She meets Clay’s easy smile and blushes.  “Nice try. I’ll ignore the shirts, for now at least. But the briefs? Please tell me, baby girl, another guy is  _ not  _ wearing  _ my  _ briefs.” She bites her lower lip at the drawl in his gravelly voice.  “I miss you when you’re gone.” She avoids his gaze. “Anything that I can smuggle out of your apartment I take. I know it’s wrong but… it smells like you. It brings me comfort on the longer missions.” Stella quickly gets up with her empty cup and walks past him into the kitchen. 

“Okay, I accept that answer, but my briefs? What do you wear them or somethin’?” He leans against the opposite counter watching her every move. 

Stella nods. “Sometimes,” she turns to face him in time to see a flicker of a smile, “On the days when I miss you the most, I’ll wear your briefs, one of your sweatshirts with my jeans or shorts and go to school. It brings me comfort...having you so close to me when you’re so far away.” Her voice softens towards the end, their eyes meet. Clay’s chewing on his lower lip. His crystal eyes dart down to his shirt that she’s wearing now. “You’re just yanking my chain. Aren’t you?” His tongue darts out and licks his lips as he struggles to get his breathing under control. “Maybe. But now you can be gone for a week, or two, or three months and think about me wearing your things.” She nips his earlobe earning a gentle gasp from him.  There’s a small growl that comes from the blond as Stella backs away. She shoots him a smile as she takes her coffee and heads back into the living room. “There parade comes on at nine.” 

“And the football game comes on at noon,” Clay says watching her for a moment. He smiles briefly watching her jot stuff down. 

“What’re you writin’?” 

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

He raises a brow, “So I’m just imagining you writing in front of me?”

Stella smiles shutting her notebook. “Just a...game plan.” 

“Because you’re gonna call the Lions and tell them how to win?” 

“What? No. It’s my game plan to tackle Thanksgiving. You’re not allowed to look at it. Your only job is to watch the parade, football, and then eat.” Stella smiles as she gets up and finishes her coffee in one drink. “Think you can handle that?” Clay watches amused by his little coffee addict.  “No, but I can try. Why can’t I help you?”

“Because.” 

He lets her pass. “If I want to help?” 

Stella grins. “You can make the cranberry sauce.”  Clay snorts a laugh.

“You love me,” She teases. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her neck before letting her go. “I’m gonna go shower before I start cooking.”

***

It wasn’t until Stella was submerged in the steaming shower when something dawned on her. “Fuck!” 

She tumbles out of the shower almost slipping on the way out of the humid room. Stella charges to the kitchen wrapping a towel around herself as she slides on the tile flooring.  “Stell, I don’t think I’ve had to tell a woman this, but you’re taking a shower wrong. You’re supposed to be under the water. Not in the kitchen.” Clay laughs from a sit-up position on the floor.  “Clay, I forgot to thaw the turkey! What did we do yesterday? How could I have been so stupid to forget to thaw the turkey.” She pauses, her brain working overtime to retrace their steps from the day before. 

“Hey, Stell, this isn’t gonna help the bird from thawing any faster. And you’re wasting water.”

“Shut up and help me get the turkey out of the freezer. Who put it in the freezer? Who could be that...don’t answer that.” Stella starts moving things around the freezer to get the bird out when Clay comes in to help. Only to his dismay when the world flew past him and to Stella’s horror when he took her down with him.

“Fuckin’ shit.” He groans. Stella winces at the pain in her elbow. “I may have tracked water into the kitchen.” She covers her eyes. 

“Ya think?” Clay still hasn’t moved. Partly out of embarrassment and partly because the air was knocked from him completely on impact. Stella holds up a bag of frozen peas that had fallen when Clay slid into her. “Peas? For the pain?” As if on cue the peas begin to rain out of the bag and on to the floor...well Clay too. 2 “You’re going to be the death of me, Baxter.” Clay groans when he finally sits up. A headache was already starting and so was some back pain. “I’m sorry?” Stella offers, trying to hold back a laugh. She grabs her towel off the floor and offers it to him. “You look like you need it more than me.” He can’t help but laugh at the situation on the floor, both of them now with pears stuck to them. Though Stella had more stuck to her than he did. He, at least, was wearing basketball shorts. She was sitting on the tile naked. 

Clay reaches for the towel when the turkey, that apparently wasn’t stable in the freezer anymore, came tumbling out only to land in Clay’s lap. He groans with pain. “Stell, did I do something to you? Is this punishment for something? Because let me be the first to say it was Sonny’s fault.”  Stella’s hands cover her mouth in shock. “I’m so, so,  _ so  _ sorry, Clay. Oh my God. Are you okay?”

He grunts. “Just peachy. You didn’t want kids, did you?” 

“Here, lemme get the turkey,” Stella says, “Then we can take you to the emergency room. You might have a concussion or something.” 

Clay shakes his head. “I’m fine. I’m been blown up multiple times and have never had a concussion before. A little fall isn’t going to cause that.” He waves her off. She rolls her eyes at his clear and horrible lie.  “You’re not superman, Clay.” Stella gets up and slips on the peas covering the floor. “Shit!” She squawks, her head colliding with Clays’ on the way down.

“Nnnnnow I have a concussion.” Clay muses. 

“Fuck you,” Stella grumbles. 

“Can’t. There’s a turkey in the way.”

“Oh, so that’s the very uncomfortable thing I’m laying on.” 

Clay sits them both up and rubs his head. “You have Advil or somethin’? I’m willing to call Trent but he’s the worst gossip of the group. By Monday everyone will know about this and that’s including Blackburns’ wife.” He gestures to the scene before them.  “Yeah, I got some yesterday.” Stell gets up and winces as she walks towards a closet. “Really, Trent’s the worst gossip of the group? I was not expecting that. Brock, maybe. But not Trent.”  Clay laughs. “Shocking, I know.” He happily accepts the three Advil. He looks down at his lap, “You know, you could call the Butterball Hotline and get some advice on what to do with the frozen turkey.” He takes the glass of water Stella hands him.  “Babe, that’s not a thing  _ and  _ now I know that you watch The West Wing.” Clay hands her the turkey and gets up wincing. “Yes, I’ve watched The West Wing. And for your information, the Butterball Hotline is a real thing.”

Stella squints at him. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care. You’ve got frozen peas stuck to your ass.” She smacks his chest, “Oh crap, I left the water on!” Stella runs into the bathroom slipping on the way. Clay laughs putting the turkey in the sink and filling it with water. There was only a slight protest from Stella as she let out a squawk from the shower. 

***

“Okay, the pumpkin pie is done. Now, all it has to do is bake.” Stella hums with glee. 

“What temperature?” Clay calls from the living room. 

The teacher pauses. “Crap, I have that written down...somewhere.” She starts shifting papers and recipes around grumbling to herself. Clay sits up and starts moving papers around on the coffee table in assistance but stops when he sees her list from the day before. He smiles softly at the little bold letters at the top of the page. Clay glances at Stella and watches as she slides the pie into the oven. He grins a sudden feeling of warmth washing over him.  “Find the recipe?” 

“I’d already set the temperature. See babe, I’m learning. And you were afraid was I was going to mess this up!” She grins at him before turning back to the cutting board. 

“How’s the parade?” Stella asks a while later. Clay looks up and nods, “Uh, good, good. They had to shoot down Snoopy. He got outta hand and started flying off somewhere else.”  Stella freezes, “They had to shoot Snoopy?” She sounds utterly heartbroken and when he meets her eyes he’s correct in his theory. 

“Well, they shot and stabbed him if that makes you feel better.”

“Huh, yeah, no, I still feel like crying. But it’s nice to know you’re fine with Snoopy being murdered on Thanksgiving.”

“Yes, I was so heartbroken when they had to shoot a balloon down.” He gives her a dry smile before pushing himself off the couch and walking over to the island. “You call the hotline?” He grabs a chopped carrot off the cutting board and pops it into his mouth. Her eyes grow twice the size as he repeats the movement. “Stop that, do you want to lose a finger?” Clay rolls his eyes with playfulness. “So, did you call that hotline?”

“Yes.” 

“And what’d they say about the bird?”

She smacks his hand as he goes in for more carrot. “They said it’s completely fine to cook it before it’s thawed...they said it was actually better that way so you don’t have to worry about thawing it out the night before and run the risk of the stupid bird going bad.”  He snorts, “They called the bird stupid?”

“No...I did.” She smacks his hand again, “Oh my God, Clay you’re like a child!” Stella laughs, “would you like a snack or something?” 

“Yes, actually.” Clay laughs. “What do we have?”  Stella stops chopping. “Um. I’ve got more carrots? I forgot snack food. Crap. You know I think I have some cash if you want-” Clay’s lips cover hers. With a free hand, she wraps it around his neck and pulls away slowly. “What was that for?”

“Carrots are fine, Stell,” He nuzzles her neck. “Have I mentioned you look incredible in my flannels?”

“Clay, I get you’re as horny as a teenager, but I’m holding a knife and I will use it.”

***

“Pie is done. Now for the bacon.” Stella mutters to herself. Clay perks up, “Bacon? We’re having bacon? That’s part of the tradition?”  _ He’s a dog. I swear he’s a dog.  _ Stella could’ve sworn with the eagerness Clay was showing that if he was an actual dog (that’s still up for debate) his tail would be going crazy and he’d be dancing at her feet waiting for her to drop something.  The Seal already began his move, sliding off the couch he gradually makes his way over to the island as if he were stalking prey. With a small snort, Stella shews him away. “It’s raw bacon, babe.” 

He hovers. “If you’d told me Monday that bacon was going to be involved I wouldn’t have argued so much.” 

“Oh, so that’s all I have to do? Any news I have to share good or bad I just give you bacon and you’ll be on board.” 

He shoots her a smirk as he pops carrot slice into his mouth. “So what dish is the bacon going to go in or on? Turkey, stuffing, what?”

“Better than both of those. It’s going in the green beans.” Stella smiles grabbing a large knife. 

His smile falters. “Green beans? That doesn’t sound right.” When she catches a glimpse of his face she bursts into a fit of laughter. Clay Spenser, big bad Navy Seal, and current badass Tier 1 Operator was  _ pouting _ over having to eat green beans. Clay rolls his eyes at her,  “Shut up.” 

“I’m sorry, but c’mon, you don’t like green beans? You’re pouting over a vegetable.” She continues to laugh, “you’re like a child!” Laughing while chopping raw bacon was probably not proper knife etiquette and she was right. In the midst of the laughter and Clay’s continued pouting, a sharp pain erupts from her hand.  “OW! Shit! Fuck. My. Life.” Stella drops the knife on the counter and slumps over holding her bloody finger with her other hand between her legs. 

“Shit, Stell! Are you okay?” Clay grabs a towel off the counter kneeling to get a look at her hand. “Babe lemme look at it.” He pries her fingers away from the wound.

“Shit, it hurts.” She cries. 

“I know, I know. But you gotta let me look, okay? I need to know if we have to go to the emergency room or not.” Stella moves her hand away her eyes squeezed shut. “Is it still there?” 

He chuckles, “Yeah, your finger is still here. You just took out a good chunk of skin.”

“It hurts like hell.” 

“Yeah, it’s gonna hurt for a bit. Here hold it above your head while I go look for some bandages, okay?”  Stella gives a brief nod and does as told. Clay stands up and places a soft kiss on her forehead before going to look for the first-aid kit.  Once he's returned he apologizes softly a few times as he leads her hand over to the sink before pouring hydrogen peroxide over the wound.  “Oh, fucking hell!” Stella cries, stomping her foot down in pain. 

Clay chuckles softly, “By the way, it’s gonna sting.” 

He dries around the cut and wraps a band-aid around it. “Better?” She shakes her head, “It still hurts.” 

“Yeah, well it’s gonna feel like that for a few days. Not sure if this is gonna help but here,” he hands her a few Advil pills and a glass of water.  Clay starts cleaning up the small mess he created and puts the box of band-aid back in the kit while Stella stands awkwardly next to him looking at the cutting board. “Thank you.” 

He shoots her a glance and smiles. “Well, I kind of had to help you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You were a damsel in distress. It’s my job to help damsels.” He grins walking away from her. She playfully kicks him the ass as he passes her earning one of his childish laughs she loves so much. 

When he comes back he begins cleaning up the cutting board. “What are you doing?” Stella asks confused. She hurries over to where he was standing and tries to push him away. Clay laughs, “Stell, you cut yourself while chopping bacon. There’s blood on the cutting board. Even if it were carrots we’d still have to toss everything. I love you but I’m not eating your blood. It’s unsanitary.”

“But that’s the only bacon I have. I need it for the green beans.” She frowns as he tosses the bacon into the trash.  "Tell ya what, I can run to the store real quick and get some more. Okay?” He washes the cutting board. With a huff and a toss of her hair, Stella shakes her head. “I can go. You weren’t supposed to do anything today. Now not only are you offering to go on a store run, but you’ve also played medic  _ and _ you’re cleaning up my mess.” 

“I can text Sonny and ask him but he’s most likely covered in glitter at this point so anything he brings us will also have glitter in it.” Stella’s mouth falls open. “I...I don’t even want to know. There’s cash in my-” 

“Relax, Stell. I got it covered.”

***

The trip to the store didn’t go as planned as Clay would’ve hoped. The meat department was out of pretty much everything. Well, they were in stock of  _ I Can’t Believe its Not Real Bacon _ but Clay would rather go up against the entire Taliban armed nothing but a swiss pocket knife than bring  _ that _ home to his girlfriend to fry up. She would most likely turn him over to the Taliban herself. And Jason would let her.

Stella was oddly okay with him returning with no bacon but a large Pumpkin Spice Latte. It was 2:30 p.m already and she’d be needing her afternoon caffeine spike.

“You didn’t have too,” She exclaims happily taking the warm coffee. Clay shrugs. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t treat you to a coffee? You’re making me a great dinner.” Stella lets out a nervous laugh, “You’re not wishing we ordered takeout?”

“Nah, I was just messing with you. I’m happy we’re doing this. A new tradition for the two of us.” She beams with pride and nods. “A new tradition.”

***

While Clay was gone, Stella wrangled the bird into a deep pan then gradually added the chicken broth, water, and vegetable broth. “Crap, was the butter supposed to go in first or after? Wait where does the butter go?” She searched the counters for her cheat sheets but her notes and recipes were gone. Stella quickly checked the coffee table and even her bedroom but couldn’t find them anywhere. 

“Oh fuck!” Her hands became sweaty and there was a loud thumping sound she couldn’t find. It took her several minutes before realizing the thumping sound was coming from her own heart.  “Shit, what am I going to do?” She checks the clock and curses under her breath. “Wait, there’s one place I haven’t checked!” The triumph she felt didn’t last long as she turns to look at the trash. A shiver runs down her spine. “Please don’t be in here. Please don’t be in here.”  She grabs a new pair of latex gloves (Clay swearing to heaven and hell she needed to wear them from this point on because of the cut on her finger) and begins poking around the trash. Benth the giblets and mixed together with the bloody towel and raw bacon were her crumpled recipes and notes.

“Shit!” She almost covered her mouth but thought better at the disgusting sight of the gloves. 

Already the day wasn’t going as planned. Stella figured that forgetting to thaw the turkey the night before was some bad omen add the incident this morning where Clay almost knocked  himself out she wondered why she just didn’t cave and order a pizza. Stella wanted to be upset that Clay had tossed her directions but she honestly couldn’t be. He was just trying to help. 

“Okay, okay…” Stella washes her hands and looks at the turkey. Every minute she wasted worrying about what to do she was wasting a minute of cooking. Her heart sank. It was a 13-pound bird. How did she talk herself into being able to cook this meal? She shakes her head.  _ You’re wasting time. _

By the time Clay had returned Stella had violated the birds’ safe space by shoving butter under its skin (she vaguely remembered her mom and grandmother doing something like that) and tossed it into the oven. 

“How’s it goin’?” He hands her a large coffee. 

“Good...good.” She looks towards the kitchen. “The bird is cooking. Now I just have to worry about the stuffing, mashed potatoes, and the salad. Oh, and the dinner rolls. I need to remember to make those.”  Clay rubs the back of his neck avoiding Stella’s gaze. “You’re not...planning on making your own rolls, are you? We have… like already made ones that we can just throw in the oven, right?”

“I’m going to ignore that look of uneasiness. But yes, I have the ones that we just throw into the oven.” She bites back a grin as Clay lets out a sigh of relief. He heads into the living room his eyes already zeroed in on the game, “Sorry about the bacon.” It’s halfhearted but she knows he means it. And the warmth of her Pumpkin Spice latte is all she needs to know how he feels about her.

***

You’d think making a salad would be easy. Open the bag, pour into a bowl, done. Easy right? Apparently not for Stella. The bag refused to open but she didn’t let that stop her. Her stubborn pride refused to let her go to Clay for a plastic bag. 

“Want some help?” Clay muses, his eyes still on the television. 

“No, I got-” 

**_POP!_ **

“Fuck!” Stella screams as salad flies in all directions littering the kitchen floor accompanied by Clay’s laugh filling the apartment. The brunette looks into the living room and laughs at the young man who’s fallen on to the floor laughing so hard his arms are wrapped around his stomach as he rolls back and forth.  “Um,” Stella looks around the kitchen, “we can scratch salad off the menu.” She shakes spinach out of her hair and lets out a soft sigh. Clay gets up, still laughing, and walks over to the island. “You could’ve asked for help, Stell.” He snorts another laugh as he peers over the countertop.  That does it. He’s back laughing like a hyena. That childish carefree laugh that’s addicting. Stella bursts into a fit of laughs herself. 

***

With the fear of the turkey not being done in time, Stella took it upon herself to turn the heat up to cook it faster. It shouldn’t hurt it too much. She hoped. 

“Hey, is the stuffing supposed to be swimming.” Clay nudges the deep glass dish that contained the floating stuffing. Stella looks up, eyes wide. “The recipe said to add butter…” 

“How much butter?”

“One cup.” 

“One cup or ¾ cup?”

Stella shrugs not remembering what her phone had said from earlier. “What’s the difference?” 

“Us living or not.” She smacks his arm as he popped a carrot into her mouth. “If there’s too much liquid we just turn the temperature up in the oven.” Clay opens his mouth to protest the suggestion but before he can Stella’s already pushing him out of the kitchen.  “Stop worrying! It’s your day off! Relax and watch the Dolphins lose.” 

“The Dolphins aren’t even playing.” 

She turns back into the kitchen and pauses.  _ When do I bake the stuffing if the turkey is in the oven? After, that was what my mom did. While the turkey is taking a rest you cook the rest...right?  _ She shakes her head and moves on to the potatoes. “Clay, skin on or off?”

“Depends, will you be skinning yourself in the process?” He looks up from the game, that cocky grin spread out on his face. Stella flips him off and looks at the peeler beside her. “I’ve, uh, always liked the skin on.”  _ Lies! _

“Skin it is.” Clay grabs a hand full of carrot pieces and stops mid-chew. “Don’t forget to wash the potatoes!”

“I’m not an idiot, Clay! I know you wash the potatoes first!” 

“I don’t think you’re an idiot. I was just, uh, giving a friendly reminder.” Stella rolls her eyes at her boyfriend but looked at the five dirty potatoes and lets out a sigh of relief.  _ Of course, you wash them first. That makes sense. Oh crap, I hope that rule doesn’t go for carrots too!  _ She glances over her shoulder at the blonde who was still enjoying the game and eating his way through the round, orange vegetable.  _ Why tell him and ruin his good mood? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.  _

***

It seemed like forever had passed before the timer for the turkey had gone off. Stella pulled herself off the couch and moved at a snail’s pace to get back into the kitchen. She ached all over. From her shoulders down to her feet. Never before had she stood this much in a kitchen. It was unheard of. In fact, this much time in a kitchen cooking, could, in fact, kill her. She’d rather be watching the football game. She understood the sport enough to follow along, but you could easily replace the Cowboys with the Dolphins and she’d never know the difference. 

“Need a hand?” Clay asks from the couch. 

“No, I’ve got it.” Stella pulls the bird from the oven and frowns. How the hell was she supposed to tell when it was done?  _ Poke it and if it bounces back it’s done.  _ Her grandmother’s words echoed in her head. She did as granny had suggested and frowned again.  _ That doesn’t seem right.  _ Stella glanced at her phone on the charger and squinted at the time. 4:30 p.m. Still a little time before 5. A message popped up from her cousin wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving. She’d get back to her later hopefully able to rave about the entire meal she cooked from scratch. She loved her family but it’d been a long-running joke that she can’t cook and every holiday everyone took a dig at her. Not this year. She’d prove them wrong. 

“Babe, do you know where the meat thermometer is?” Stella calls over her shoulder. 

“Top drawer on the left,” Clay responds. He lets out a loud cuss and she figures it was at the tv and not at her still not finding the stupid thermometer on the left.  _ Here it is!  _ Okay, so it was where he said it was. What does it say about you and your cooking ability that your boyfriend knows where your things are in  _ your _ apartment when he doesn’t even live here and the two of you spend most of your time at his place?

“How’s the game?”

“The Cowboys are losing to Buffalo.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s not a good look when you lose to Buffalo.” Clay chuckles. 

Stella stabs the bird and frowns again. What temperature was right for a bird to be done? It was brown on top but what about the inside? She didn’t want to cut into it now, that could ruin the bird.  _ Fuck it _ . Stella removes the thermometer and puts the bird back into the oven. She turns the temperature up just a few degrees.  _ Who’s this going to hurt?  _

She pokes at her boiling potatoes and gulps. Did they look done? Stella couldn’t tell. Better safe than sorry. She poured them into the strainer and squeaked when the boiling water hit her hand. “Fuck!” She drops the pot in the sink, thankfully all the potatoes had made it into the strainer before she dropped it. 

"Jesus Christ, Stell. You’re worse than me.” Clay’s off the couch instantly and by her side. “That’s not as comforting as you think it is.” She winces as he takes her hand and brings it under cold water.  “It’s not supposed to be comforting. Trent’s threatened to put me in a large plastic bubble if I keep getting hurt. And he’s always telling me I’m sending him to an early grave.” 

“Please, keep talking, I don’t need any more sleep while your spun-up. The three hours I typically get are enough. I promise.” She glares at him. Clay gives an uneasy laugh. “I’m joking. I’m always safe. Safer than safe.” 

“Uh-huh.” Clay brings her hand close and inspects it. “It’s not that bad. It’ll be red for a few days and probably hurt just as long but I don’t think it’ll swell or blister.” Gently, Clay places a small kiss on her knuckles before letting her hand go. Stella gives a small smile. “You get hurt a lot, huh?”

“It could be worse.” Clay shrugs grabbing her some ice. 

“What’s worse than having to worry about my boyfriend falling out of a moving helicopter into the ocean and being eaten by a hungry shark?” 

“That was fast.” He chuckles handing her an icepack, “Is that what you think about when I’m gone?”

Stella nods slowly. “That and you getting lost or captured or left behind or forgotten about or-” 

“Message received. You worry.” 

“Only because I kind of like you.” 

Clay grins and leans down kissing her. “I kind of like you too.” 

***

The mashed potatoes had gone horribly. The starchy food was already incredibly soft by the time she added the butter, milk, and sour cream. When Stella was done mashing… er, stirring in the ingredients, she poured the liquid into a bowl and the pit in her stomach grew.  _ There go the mouth-watering mashed potatoes my aunt makes every year.  _ Stella let out a shaky sigh and placed the pot in the sink. 

“It smells good in here,” Clay says enthusiastically. He wraps his arms around Stella’s waist and kisses her neck; pulling her into his body gently. 

“Really?”  _ His expectations are so low.  _ “Mmhmm.” He nuzzles his bearded face into her neck causing her to giggle. “Clay, that tickles!” She playfully slaps at his hands. 

“Thank you,” Clay whispers in her ear before letting her go. She watches him walk back into the living room and sighs.  _ I just wish this would’ve gone better.  _

“Okay, I still need to cook the stuffing, that shouldn’t take long and the rolls. Then dinner’s done.” 

“And the turkey?” Clay asks from his seat, his eyes still glued to the screen for a second, before tearing them away to look at the teacher.

Stella pales. The loud thumping sound returns as her stomach flips a few times. She slowly makes her way to the oven and with clammy palms, Stella pulls open the oven door. Black smoke floods out of the tight space and into the kitchen. 

“Shit!” Clay jumps up and quickly flings opens a window letting in the chilly November wind. On his way to the kitchen, he opens the front door.  “You okay?” He gently touches her shoulder. Clay’s worried, not for the food, but for Stella. She was unusually pale and she looks on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Hey, Stell, look at me. It’s alright. It’s just a little… burned.”  His girlfriend just nods as he takes the oven mitts and pulls out the turkey. “A little” was a serious understatement. Clay set the turkey down on the island and pulled Stella into a side hug.  Her face was wet with tears as she stares at the bird. “Hey now, don’t cry. It’ll be fine.” Clay kisses the top of her head. 

She shakes her head and covers her face. “It’s black, Clay. The turkey is black!” She sobs. 

“C’mon, Stell. That’s just the skin burned. I’m sure the inside is perfect.” Clay rubs her shoulders and kisses her temple. 

Stella sniffles. “You’re sure?” Clay nods as he dries her tears with the sleeve of his blue shirt. “I’m sure. Now, c’mon. We still have stuffing and some rolls to make.” She gives him a weak smile and nods. “Okay.” 

***

The stuffing was a disaster. Stella moved too fast and it sloshed right out of the dish and on to the floor. She looks down at the floor that’s promptly covered in milk, egg, and soggy bread. Her stomach turns at the sight and smell.  Clay had come out of the bedroom after getting off the phone with Ray and his family, Jameelah excitedly told him about the hand turkeys she made for him with her grandparents. He couldn’t wait to hang them up in his cage at work on Saturday. “Hey, Stell, Jam - what the fuck happened?” He hesitantly backed away from the tiled floor not wanting a repeat of this morning. At least that was just water, this definitely wasn’t water. 

“I might’ve added too much liquid.” Clay laughed and quickly covered his mouth. “I’ll get uh, paper towels?” She nods defeated, “In the closest.” They cleaned up the floor and Clay quickly tossed the filled trash outside. While he was gone Stella put the dinner rolls in the oven and stared at the turkey. Where did she go wrong?  _ I forgot to set a timer. Shit, who knew how important those things were. Well, that’s not going to happen this time. How long do you bake rolls? A minute for each roll? Was that it? Something like that, I think...  _

“Let’s see, fifteen rolls… fifteen minutes!” Stella set the timer and grabbed her phone to kill the time. She called her cousin and chatted for a bit. Clay had come in and washed his hands before kissing her cheek and heading back into the living room to catch the Saints game. 

“Gen says hi,” Stella says walking into the livingroom tossing her phone on to the couch. “How is she?” Clay asks and offers Stella a piece of carrot. She glares at the vegetable and shakes her head. Part of her wanted to stop him but she just let him go. That was not a conversation she wanted to have. Besides, a little dirt never hurt anyone. “She’s good, apparently she’s been planning for Black Friday like a madwoman.” The young Seal chuckles from his spot on the couch. The timer goes off and she heads into the kitchen to pull out what she hopes are golden brown dinner rolls. 

They weren’t. 

Stella placed black hockey pucks on the stovetop and sniffled. 

“Hey, how’d the- Holy shit.” Clay had followed after her and cringed at the sight of the bread. “I think the ISIS actually uses something similar to this.” Clay took a puck and gently banged it on the counter. The food went undamaged.  Stella burst into tears.

Surprised, Clay quickly pulls Stella into a tight embrace and rocks her back and forth. “It was a joke, babe.” She cries louder. “Okay, not a good joke.” He kisses her head. “C’mon, don’t cry. It’s just food.”

“They’re hockey pucks, Clay! An idiot could’ve warmed them up!”

“Well, how long did you give ‘em?” He rubs slow circles on her back. 

“15 minutes.” Stella sniffles. 

He cringes. “Stell, baby, they’re dinner rolls. You only need to give them like… seven minutes. Maybe ten.” She bursts into tears once more.  _ Yep, shouldn’t have said anything.  _ Clay thinks to himself. Stella’s legs buckle, her full weight being caught by Clay who eases her on to the floor. He gets up to take in the damage of the food as Stella pulls her legs up to her chest and hides her face as she continues to sob.  The young Seal pokes a the rolls to see if there was anything salvageable. 

There wasn’t. 

He moves on to the mashed potato soup and winces. Of course, it was soup. The stuffing ended up on the floor...along with the dish. That was just a nightmare of broken glass and soggy bread. The bottom of the pot used for the potatoes was burned. And the turkey… Clay grabs a knife and steps around Stella to get to the bird. He cuts it open and lets out a sigh. It was like the scene from a horror film. It couldn’t be saved. It was dehydrated, you could inject an IV of fluids and it wouldn’t bring the bird back. It was completely burned and ruined. The small pot used for gravy was… well. Clay grabbed the wooden spoon that was in the saucepan and lifted it up. The pot came with it. His heart sank. 

“On the bright side… we have Cranberry sauce and green beans.” Clay turns to his girlfriend who’s still seated on the floor and his heart shatters. She was still balled up sobbing, her long hair covering her hidden face. Stella shakes her head. When she lifts it up, he frowns at the red and puffy face. “I forgot about the green beans after I cut myself. And I forgot the fucking cranberry sauce at the damn store.” She goes back to sobbing in her arms. 

Clay searches around the kitchen and sighs. It certainly wasn’t the day he had envisioned. He was about to grab a trash bag but stopped. A small smile formed on his face as he walked over to the small dining table.

“It wasn’t a complete disaster, Stell.” He said over his shoulder. 

“Clay, I know you’re trying to be nice, but everything is ruined. I don’t know who I was fooling thinking I could actually make this meal. I burned or destroyed everything I touched! I’m Death!”

“Now that’s not true. You didn’t ruin everything.” 

“Clay, the turkey burned. It is completely burned! I don’t even fucking know what happened to the gravy but I know that pot is gonna have to go! Everything I touched today turned into complete and utter failure.” She sobs. 

Clay walks back over and sits beside her. “It was not.” She’d covered her face again. It took a few nudges but she finally looked up at him. “What?” She sniffles. Her soft brown eyes were red and distraught. He hands her the pumpkin pie.

“Now, I’m not an expert, but this looks pretty damn good to me.” Clay reaches up and opens a drawer grabbing two forks. Stella dries her tears with the back of her hands and accepts a fork. 

“Bon appetit, mademoiselle” Clay says perfectly in French. Stella smiles and lets out a soft giggle as they both dig into the pie. It wasn’t her grandmother’s pie, but it was eatable. And the soft moan from Clay as he ate made her feel all the better. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” She whispers resting her head on his shoulder. He rests his head on top of her and happily eats another bite of the pie. “Happy Thanksgiving, Stell. Thank you for making it memorable.”  She snorts, “I just wish there was something to eat other than pie.” 

Clay shakes his head. “No, no this is perfect.” He feeds her a bite. “You did excellent, Stell.” She smiles at his comment and feeds him a bite.

“I’m going to have to go shopping tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“It’s Black Friday, you can get awesome deals on pots and pans.”  Stella groans and hits her head on the drawer behind her. “I hate Black Friday.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be in line with you. Then we can go out for breakfast afterward before I have to be at work if you’d like.” 

They’re silent for a moment. Her head rolls to face him, “Wanna order a pizza?” 

Clay grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would love y'all to comment and tell me your thoughts! I didn't intend for this to be super long...but that's what happened. 
> 
> Please be kind! Thanks for reading!


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